Closure
by Hollow Nightmare
Summary: In the end, it comes down to a choice between Lisbon or Red John. Jane/Lisbon, Oneshot


**Author's Note: Sequel to **_**The Meaning of Chocolate **_**(and the last in the **_**Aftermath**_** series), but can be read alone. This was meant to have both Lisbon's and Jane's perspectives, but somehow Jane stole the spotlight - with narration, dialogue **_**and**_** action. I just find him easier to write, for some reason. :)**

**Also, check out the Mentalist Awards at: community . livejournal . com / mentalawards (just remove the spaces).**

**Review please!**

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The gun is cold in his hand.

He wonders for a crazy half-second whether that has any symbolic meaning. Shouldn't it be red hot, just like his anger and bloodlust and wrath?

But no. It's just cold, and hard, and digging painfully into his palm.

His fingers twitch against the cool metal, clenching and unclenching. Stop. Repeat.

He can hear his heartbeat pounding heavily in his ears.

_dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM. _

He is shaking with a dangerous concoction of adrenaline, anger and fear. He feels sick, he feels alive, he feels dead... He just _feels_. His mouth is dry, his head his spinning, his heart is racing... Ever muscle in his body is taut with tension. He is so tightly wound that he fears one wrong move will make him snap.

_dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM._

"Oh, come on. How long have you been waiting for this? Pull the trigger. I dare you."

The deep voice sends chills up Jane's spine. Goosebumps raise on his arms. His teeth grind together of their own accord and his hand clenches so tightly around the gun that it starts to shake. Jane has never felt like this, never experienced this haze of red loathing, clouding his vision and impairing his judgement. Hate is thrumming through his veins, throbbing and pulsing with life. He wants nothing more than to curl his finger and fire the shot. It would be so easy.

_dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM._

"Let her go," he seethes.

The man laughs, and a glint of sharp silver makes Jane's eyes widen. His jaw is clenched so tightly that he thinks he might have broken it. His fingers twitch against the trigger, and now _her_ eyes widen.

He has never seen her like this. Not even that time she was shot, tied up and bleeding all over the floor. Not even when she woke up in hospital from a coma and couldn't recognize anyone. This is a different kind of fear, a more guttural, deep-rooted fear. She doesn't think she is going to die. She _knows_ it.

Her little mouth is drawn and white with tension. The vein in her arched neck is throbbing against the edge of the knife, taunting her with the possibility of a deeper cut. Her skin is pale, her body simultaneously slumped and taut with nerves. It is her eyes, though, fearfully wide and pleading, that catch Jane off guard.

Lisbon was never meant to be a hostage. She doesn't have the nature.

"Let her go?" It is that voice again, the one that makes Jane tremble with rage. "Now why would I do that?"

His face is coolly smug, his eyes glinting with triumph. He carelessly twirls the knife between his fingers; the blade gently slices against Lisbon's skin and she winces instinctively. Jane sees a droplet of blood roll down her neck, and his hand clenches so hard it becomes painful.

_dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM._

"She has got nothing to do with this," replies Jane, his voice uncharacteristically rough. "This is between you and me."

He is hoping, praying that this will work. If he has ever needed his persuasive abilities before, it is nothing compared to how he needs them now.

"That's true," replies the man with a thoughtful frown, and Jane feels his heart sink; he knows what's coming next. "But it's so much more fun when there are others involved, don't you think?"

"I think you are sick, masochistic little bastard who deserves to rot in hell for all eternity."

His voice is rough with loathing, fast and hard, and shaking with uncontrollable rage. This is one of the few times Jane hasn't got a mask covering his true emotions, and he can see that it scares Lisbon.

But the man just smiles.

"Are you sure it's a smart idea to insult the man who's holding a knife to this pretty little woman's throat?"

He makes a shallow cut on the side of her neck, just opposite the earlier cut, and Lisbon screws her eyes shut against the pain, trying not to make any noise.

_dum-DUM - ... ... ... - dum-DUM._

Jane's heart misses a beat. He feels like he has been punched in the stomach; he knows where the next gash will be. There are currently two small red lines on her neck, forming eyes, and Jane knows that the next one will be a deep, fatal smile slitting across her entire throat. He wants to heave, he wants to be sick, he wants to -

"She's so different to your wife," the man continues slowly, thoughtfully. "She screamed, you know. Begged, pleaded for mercy."

- _kill him_.

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

"SHUT UP!" Jane roars, his entire body trembling with suppressed anger and hate.

Lisbon flinches, but the man just smiles eerily.

"Or what?" he asks quietly. "You'll shoot me?"

Jane doesn't reply, just tries to unclench his body and stop his shaking. His head is swimming dizzily, and his pounding heart is so loud that he almost misses the man's next words.

"You'll take her down too, you know. Shoot me and - what do you know? - this knife slips just a _little bit_..."

He demonstrates the movement, the knife hovering barely an inch away from Lisbon's neck.

Jane feels a sudden twisting in his gut. He should have known. He should have _known_, goddamnit. This has been the man's plan all along - force Jane to choose. He feels faint, sick with shock. He can hardly see, can hardly breathe. This isn't fair.

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

"You sick bastard," he breathes.

"It all comes down to a choice, Jane," the man continues calmly, as if Jane has not spoken. He twirls the knife between his fingers again, and Lisbon tenses. "Put the gun down, and everyone goes free. Kill me - and she dies too."

Jane's eyes are wild and crazy as he stares the other man down. His thoughts are racing, his heart is pounding, his hand is shaking, his vision is blurring, his ears are thrumming -

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

"What's more important to you? Me - or her?"

Jane makes the mistake of looking into Lisbon's eyes, and immediately regrets it. Her expression is tortured, anguished, guilty, pleading, desperate, frantic, panicked - all rolled into one. Her eyes are wide, her mouth trembling, her neck strained -

Jane looks away. He can't see her like this. He wishes she couldn't see _him_ like this.

He can't think. He can't concentrate. He needs to find a way to get them out of her but he! - can't! - think!

He can't decide. How is he supposed to choose? What kind of sick, unfair, twisted world is this?

It wasn't supposed to end up this way. Lisbon was _never_ meant to be involved.

_How - is - he - supposed - to - choose?_

He has spent the last five years of his life waiting for this very moment. This is all he has been living - _existing_ - for. This is what his life has boiled down to - his reason for living. _This_ is why has held on as long as he has.

He thinks about his wife. He thinks about his child. He thinks about their lives together - their mornings in bed and dinners in fancy restaurants, their family holidays and birthday parties, their little girl and her beautiful, contagious smile. He thinks about their deaths - their blood on the walls, their mutilated bodies, the note taped to the door.

He thinks about how they would feel now. They wouldn't want him to do this. Wouldn't want him to become a murderer - not even for them.

But how is he supposed to just let this opportunity go?

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

... how can he _not_?

Because it's _Lisbon_. How can he let her die? How can he kill her?

She has done so much for him. Risked her job, risked her _life_. She has been with him through thick and thin, comforted him and scolded him, reassured him and kept him on his toes. She has made him feel _alive _again, has given him something else to live for. She has saved him from himself.

He thinks about her sideways, coy glances. Her reluctant, hiding smile. Her snarky comments and wry, sarcastic nature. He thinks about giving her a Hershey's Kiss every morning, the blush on her face and the way her eyes truly light up.

He thinks about finally being able to give her a _real _kiss.

How is he supposed to let her die?

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

He makes the mistake of looking at her again. The man is triumphantly, calmly smiling. He has won, he knows. But Lisbon's expression shows so much emotion that it shakes Jane right down to his core.

The gun shakes in his hand. His finger trembles against the trigger.

It would be so easy.

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

"Jane-" Lisbon starts helplessly.

She doesn't continue.

For once, Jane doesn't know what she was going to say. He thinks she doesn't know either.

It is the first word she has said since this nightmare started. Jane turns his gaze back to her, and immediately wishes he hasn't. What he sees there makes him recoil in shock, staggering backwards.

She has given up. He can see it in her eyes, in the way she ceases resisting the man's hold. Her eyes are no longer pleading, but calm. Accepting. She looks away, resting her gaze on the ground.

She thinks she is going to die. She honestly thinks he would let her die just so he can have his revenge. She has _no idea_ how much she means to him, does she?

He knows what he has to do now.

_**dum-DUM. dum-DUM. dum-DUM.**_

He gathers up all his courage and willpower and strength, and does it.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The three gunshots ring in his ears and echo in his mind. Reflexively, he screws his eyes shut against the noise and places his hands over his ears. It is only once the ringing stops that he opens his eyes again.

Bewildered, he looks around and finds his gun lying on the floor next to him, exactly where he had let it fall just seconds before the blasts.

What the -?

He checks over himself, runs his hands over his chest and shifts his feet. He's fine. No blood, no pain, no bullets.

So who -?

He hears a wet, gurgling sound, and turns towards the noise.

_**dum-DUM. dum-**_

His heart doesn't just miss a beat, it stops completely. His blood runs cold, his body freezes, his brain shuts down. He stares blankly in shock and horror as both Lisbon and the man fall to the ground.

A second later, he is kneeling on the floor next to them, his eyes wide with panic and his heart racing double-time to make up for its earlier lapse. He reaches out with both hands and frantically rolls the man off of Lisbon, turning her over so that he can see her face. She's covered in blood, shaking and breathing unsteadily -

- but she's alive.

Terrified, but alive.

It's not her blood, Jane suddenly realizes. It's from the man lying on the ground next to her, gurgling blood in his throat and spasming in pain.

Jane spares him a quick glance, then turns back to Lisbon, running his gaze over every inch of her face. Her eyes are wide with fear, her pupils dilated with panic, and her lips are practically white with shock. She slowly sits up, shivering madly, until she is awkwardly kneeling on the ground next to Jane.

She unblinkingly stares at him for a long moment in silence, her trembling lips opening and closing, and Jane stares back.

"I-"

She doesn't continue, doesn't know what to say. She stares at him helplessly, then all of a sudden Jane lunges forwards and captures her lithe body in his arms, squeezing the life out of her and pressing her so tight against him that she can hardly breathe. She is real, solid, alive and warm and breathing, and Jane has never felt so grateful for anything in his life.

"Oh _God_," he chokes, his voice breaking on the last syllable. "You're alive, you're fine, you're okay, you're okay..."

He doesn't know if he is trying to reassure her or himself.

He pulls back just enough so that he can see her, and cups his hands around her face. She is still staring at him in shock, her face blank. He presses his lips to her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose, her eyelid, her temple, her hair, her chin... Her skin is smooth and warm against his firm lips, and... salty?

He tastes salt, but she's not crying. It takes him a while to figure out that it's _his _tears. His face is wet with them. How long has he been crying?

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, lets his lips linger there softly yet firmly. He gently threads his fingers through her hair, rests them behind her ears.

She finally lets out a loud sob and buries her face in his neck, soaking it with her own tears. He places one hand on her shoulder and cradles her head against him with the other, shushing her and rocking her until her trembling stops. He realizes that he is crying along with her, and he can't figure out wether he is comforting her or she is comforting him. He doesn't think it matters.

When she pulls back her eyes are red and bloodshot, but she finally has some color back in her face.

"Jane - you..." She looks like she is at a loss for words. "That was R-"

"I know," he interrupts, brushing some hair back from her face. "Believe me, I know."

They both turn to look at the man lying on the floor. His body is still, his eyes are open and glassy, and he is silent. Dead. Jane didn't even get to see him die. All those years, all that effort and fruitless searching and self-torture, and Jane missed his death.

The irony is astounding, but he doesn't regret it.

He had more important things to focus on.

"I just - I can't believe it's over," continues Lisbon hoarsely. She sounds dumbfounded.

"Here," says Jane, and he reaches around her to untie the rope securing her wrists together.

"Thanks," she mutters.

She rubs her wrists once they are set free, trying to ease the ache, then reaches to untie her own feet. Jane hears footsteps behind him, and warily gets to his feet, turning around. He stretches out a hand to help Lisbon up, then places an arm around her waist as she leans unsteadily against him.

Cho is jogging towards them, followed closely by Rigsby and Van Pelt and a few other officers that Jane doesn't recognize. Cho is holding a sniper's gun, and Jane suddenly figures out who shot the man. Cho has always been a good shot.

"You alright, boss?" he pants once he reaches them.

"I'm fine," she mumbles, though she leans even more of her weight against Jane's side.

Cho eyes the two red gashes on her neck, her ashen pallor and unsteady demeanor, but all he says is, "Good."

Rigsby and Van Pelt arrive shortly after and, after expressing similar sentiments, start to work on the crime scene. Lisbon is looked after by the paramedics while Jane hovers close by. He refuses to leave her side for even a second, not even to give a statement. The man's body is bagged and and placed in a van, and Jane isn't even tempted to have one last look. Not if it means letting Lisbon out of his sight.

A short while later, just as the sun has gone down and everything has been cleared away, Lisbon and Jane finally find a moment alone. She is leaning tiredly against a wall, but her gaze is alert. Jane, standing next to her, eyes the bandages on her neck but says nothing.

"You were really going to let him go, weren't you?" says Lisbon quietly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Jane lightly brushes his hand against hers and, when she doesn't pull away, threads their fingers together. Her grip is loose and nervous, as if she expects him to pull away, but after a while she holds on tighter, trusting him not to.

"Yes," he replies simply.

He can see her swallow nervously, and the sight makes him smile.

"For me," she says unsteadily.

He is looking straight at her, but she is facing forwards, avoiding his gaze. Her fingers twitch anxiously in his grip, and he lightly brushes his thumb against her knuckles.

"Yes," he repeats.

She turns to look at him now. The warm, yellow streetlights play off of her features, highlighting certain areas and casting the others in deep, dark shadows. She looks beautiful and haunted, but it is the emotion shining through her eyes that makes Jane's heart drop.

She looks guilty.

He can see gratefulness, and happiness and what he thinks - hopes - might just be love, but he can also see an immense load of guilt.

She _still_ doesn't know how much she means to him.

"Hey," he says quietly, and tightens his grip on her hand when it seems like she might pull away. "No regrets."

"Thank you," she whispers after a moment.

"No. Thank _you_."

She has saved him. He may not have realized it before, but she has been saving him all along. Saving him from himself, from the monster he was willing to become, the monster he almost _did_ become.

She stopped him.

His gaze lingers searchingly on hers, and they are both silent. He can tell she is uncomfortable with his penetrating look, but neither pull away.

He thinks about his wife again, thinks that maybe it is time to start calling her his _ex_-wife. He thinks about how he would feel if their roles had been switched. He knows he would feel an inkling of jealousy towards the man that finally got to be with her, but he thinks he would also feel grateful, and happy for her.

He thinks about taking his wedding ring off and, for once, it doesn't feel wrong.

He will always miss his wife, will always miss his child. He will never forget them - but he thinks he's ready to move on now. He _knows_ it.

The realization brings a huge smile to his face. Lisbon stares perplexedly up at him, and shifts her feet warily.

"What?" she asks.

"Lisbon, I think I finally got it."

His voice is filled with suppressed joy, so much that Lisbon starts to cautiously smile back.

"Got what?"

"Closure," he replies.

And then he kisses her.


End file.
